Uncle Bobby
by im2old4this
Summary: Bobby Singer is used to people asking for his help on hunts. But when John Winchester shows up and wants him to watch over his two small boys, Bobby has no idea what to do.
1. Chapter 1

Bobby Singer scratched the side of his cheek and then gave a gently tug at his beard. It was a habit he had when he was in an uncomfortable situation and he was trying to figure out exactly how to get out of it. His eyes darted back and forth, not wanting to rest on any of the three people in front of him. If he didn't make eye contact, maybe it would be easier to say no.

"Geez, Winchester, I'm not so sure..." he trailed off.

John Winchester shifted from one foot to the other, hoisting the toddler on his hip a little higher. "This could be it, Bobby," he implored, as he absentmindedly ran a hand over the head of the young boy that was clinging to his jeans. "It's a solid lead on that basta- on the yellow-eyed demon."

Bobby eyed the two boys dubiously. He had crossed paths with John Winchester less than a half a year ago on a hunt down in Memphis, Tennessee. It had been a rather small vampire nest, but the new hunter would have gotten himself killed if Bobby and Rufus hadn't showed up when they did. He had given John his phone number, telling him that if he needed anything to call.

This hadn't been what he meant.

Sure, John had called a few times and Bobby was able to pass on some wisdom from his quickly accumulating occult library. He had heard the kids in the background during those calls, the baby crying, the older boy loudly playing at some game, and he had felt lucky to not have children to drag into the mess his life had become.

He had just never expected the man to show up on his door-step unannounced and expect Bobby to _baby-sit._

Bobby was trying to figure out what to say. Maybe tell him that he had his own hunt he was getting ready for? Not that wasn't true – he was pretty much on standby the next few days, staying behind to do research for Rufus' latest hunt. He wasn't sure if he could pass off the lie. No, he would just have to tell John Winchester that he couldn't. That a man like him, with a father like his had been – well, it just wasn't a good idea for him to keep the kids.

Bobby glanced up and made eye-contact with the other man. He knew what it meant to want revenge and he understood John's single-minded hunger to hunt down the demon that had taken his wife away.

He opened his mouth and heard himself saying "Sure, John."

_'Balls," _he cursed mentally.

The young father gave him a grateful smile and dropped the diaper bag from his shoulder and passed the younger boy off to him. Bobby nearly dropped the kid, unsure of how exactly to hold the squirming little human.

"This is Sammy," John introduced. He reached down and pried the other boy's hand from his jeans. He gave the kid a gentle push in Bobby's direction. "And this is Dean. Now I want you boys to be good for your Uncle Bobby."

"_Uncle Bobby_?" he thought miserably, looking down into Dean's distrustful face. He was distracted as Sam laid a chubby, and slobbery, hand against his cheek.

Bobby felt more than a little shell-shocked as without another word, John made his way out the front door. Now it was just Bobby and the two kids standing in the unsettling quiet of his living room.

xxxxx

Rufus collapsed onto the squeaky motel bed, a spring in the mattress almost instantly jabbing at a pressure point on his back. He reached out, his hand fumbling for the phone, and he punched in the now familiar number.

"You were right, it was a damned skinwalker," he groused without preamble the moment the call connected. "He got to two more victims before I got a hold of him, but problem solved and what the hell is that noise?" he nearly shouted, sitting up as his brain registered the background noise.

"Dean Winchester, I swear if you hit Sammy one more time..." growled Bobby on the other end of the line, his voice raised to be heard over the sound of two children crying in sync.

"Uh, you okay?" asked Rufus wearily as the pitch of the crying raised to a higher octave.

"Rufus, I am going to have to call you back," Bobby said quietly and then hung up.

"Don't bother," muttered the hunter, hanging up the receiver and collapsing back on the bed. He was too tired to deal with whatever mess Bobby Singer had managed to get himself in.

xxxxx

"Okay, are you done with your crying, boy?" asked Bobby, hands on hips, towering over the sniffling child. He was barely six, but the kid had been a holy terror since the moment his dad had stepped out of the house. If Dean wasn't hitting or pinching his brother, he was nosing through Bobby's stuff, knocking over stacks of books or spilling mugs of coffee on important papers.

Bobby had finally gotten the little one settled down. Sam was now passed out on a pile of cushions, pillows and blankets in the living room floor. The hunter was hoping now that the odds had evened, he would be able to handle the older one.

"I'm hungry," muttered the boy petulantly, looking up at Bobby with a sulky expression.

"Well, come on then," he answered gruffly, gesturing for the boy to follow him to the kitchen. He rifled through the cupboards, looking for some kid-friendly grub to serve up. He finally settled for a PB&J. Kids liked PB&J's. And the bread wasn't too stale...Bobby slid the plate over to Dean. The boy just stared at it.

"Mom used to cut off the crusts."

Bobby felt anger boil up inside, but the emotion was quickly squashed by the kid's use of the past tense. He thought back to what John had told him about the night the boys had lost their mother. This brat was the one who had carried his brother out of a burning house. It was hard to stay angry at the kid as he stared so despondently down at the sandwich. Grumbling to himself, Bobby reached over and slid the plate back to himself. He quickly sliced off the crusts and shoved it back. Dean looked up at him and gave him a small smile.

Bobby turned away and crossed back over the the cabinets, digging out a roll of Tums. All the stress from the kids' yelling must have given him heartburn. He chewed the antacid and watched Dean thoughtfully as the kid nibbled on the sandwich. From in the living room, Sam let out a wail that quickly escalated in pitch to a steady shriek. Bobby sighed and shoved off from the countertop, but he paused as Dean set down his food and got up from the table, heading in the direction of his brother.

"Whatcha doing?" Bobby asked gruffly. Dean turned back to him and gave him a "you must be stupid" look. Bobby only raised an eyebrow.

"Sammy's crying cuz he needs to be changed," said the boy.

"Okay, mother hen." Bobby let out a laugh but it quickly died away at the serious and somewhat affronted look on the kid's face. Apparently, Dean was accustomed to telling what Sam's cries meant and what to do to make his brother happy again. Bobby gave him a half-smile and nodded back to the kitchen table. "You finish eating; I'll take care of Sammy."

Dean gave him a doubtful look. "You ever change a diaper?," he quizzed the hunter.

"Well, I...," muttered Bobby. Dean gave him a "I didn't think so" look.

"Come on, I'll show you how," stated the kid, just a hint of arrogance in his voice.

They walked into the living room. Sam had pushed himself into sitting position and was wailing whole-heartedly in a demand for attention, snot and drool dribbling down his face. His eyes fixed on his brother and chubby hands stretched out for the other boy.

Dean grinned down at the little boy and he settled next to him as he dug through the diaper bag for the essentials. "Dude, we gotta get you potty-trained. I'm getting tired of this," he teased his little brother giving the boy a playful pinch. Sam gurgled happily back at him.

"You normally handle all this?" asked Bobby, as he watched more than a little impressed as Dean handled the delicate operation.

"Oh yeah! I can change his diapers and feed him and give him baths!" Dean looked up at Bobby, obvious pride shining in his hazel green eyes.

Bobby frowned down at him. That was an awful lot for one little kid to handle. _"Dammit, John Winchester..._" he thought angrily, but then quickly smiled as he saw the look of disappoint flash over Dean's face.

"Sounds like you're a good big brother," he said, reaching out and tousling the boy's hair before he had time to think. The action shocked him slightly. He never thought he would be able to be at ease around children. Dean just grinned, apparently pleased with the praise and the physical affection. Sammy, now cleaned and apparently fully awake from his nap, was also grinning while jabbering incoherently in a steady stream of baby talk.

"_They're kinda cute_," Bobby thought as he watched the two brothers interact, wrestling around playfully. That is until Dean knocked Sam over, the little boy's head hitting the floor with a solid thunk. Sam's face scrunched up and he opened his mouth wide to suck in a lungful of air for a wail. "_Ah, hell," _Bobby sighed miserably as the crying started again.

xxxxx

Bobby woke to the darkness with a suffocating feeling weighing down on his chest. There hadn't been the usual nightmares of that night he lost his wife, or any of those featuring his father. It took a moment for Bobby to realize there was something literally weighing down on his chest. A momentary panic bubbled up inside of him. He had countless wards painted on or carved into the wood across his house, but he knew there was always something that could slip in and the idea of that something sitting on his chest, ready to suck the life from him...

The panic quickly wore off as he heard Sammy let out a little whimper and felt the child's fist tighten it's grip on his shirt front. Bobby hadn't had anywhere to put the kid down for bed and he hadn't felt right just leaving him on the cushions on the floor. He had spent the most part of the evening pacing back and forth aimlessly through his house, bouncing the apparently perpetually crying child and being trailed by his older brother.

"You gotta rock him and talk to him. He _likes _that," Dean had instructed impatiently.

Once he had finally gotten the baby to quiet, Bobby had tried to lay him down on the bed, but the motion had awoken the boy and they had to start the process all over again. Bobby had finally collapsed onto the couch, the toddler fast asleep and cradled against his chest. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, just to rest for a few moments. Bobby sighed and shifted, feeling the second small body pressed up against him. Dean had managed to crawl across them and wedge himself between Bobby and the back of the couch, half-sprawled on top of the man and his brother. There would be no moving or finding a more comfortable position. Bobby knew his back would hurt like hell in the morning, but he couldn't find it in him to wake them up to put them to bed. He tried to tell himself it was because he didn't want them to start up their crying again. But there was something soothing in the feeling of the rise and fall of the two little chests as they slept on.

Bobby chased off wistful memories of Karen and the last argument that they had. But she had been right. This was awfully nice...

xxxxx

A few days later, Bobby watched from his porch as John Winchester ushered his boys towards the Impala. His lead had been a dead end and he had shown up early that morning with a dead, defeated look in his eyes, declining Bobby's offer of breakfast and in a hurry to take the boys back on the road with him. Bobby felt more than a little bit of aggravation. They had been just about to sit down to eat; he had just scrambled up some cheese eggs by request for Dean and was about to open one of the little jars of baby food that he had gone to the grocery store to procure the day before.

"Sure you don't want to stay and eat?" he asked, coming down from the porch and hovering a few steps away.

"No thanks, Bobby," John called, his voice slightly muffled as he bent over to strap Sam into his car seat. Dean had already dutifully climbed into the back seat next to his brother and buckled his belt. John stood up and shut the door, moving around to the driver's side, shutting the other back door as he passed. Bobby followed him, casting a disappointed glance at the two boys in the back seat.

John slid into the Impala and rolled down the window. Bobby leaned down. "Thanks, Bobby. Hope they weren't too much trouble?" He cast a glance in the rearview mirror that said there would be hell to pay if the answer wasn't a good one.

"Nah, they were good," replied Bobby, giving the boys a wink.

John nodded. "What do you say, Dean?" he called over his shoulder.

The little boy turned to Bobby, his hazel green eyes bright and happy. "Thank you, Uncle Bobby!" Sam burbled as well, waving a dimpled hand at him.

Bobby felt his heart squeeze. "I can watch them any time, John," he said hurriedly, turning back to the other hunter and hoping he didn't look too desperate or slightly creepy.

John gave him a tired smile. "Thanks." He cranked the car and put it into gear. Bobby stepped back as the Impala pulled out of his driveway. He saw through the back window as Dean sat up and twisted around, waving energetically good bye at him. He raised his hand in farewell, and then turned back and headed into his much too quiet and empty house.


	2. Christmas Time (Bonus Chapter)

Bobby Singer was aware that he was no longer alone in his bedroom. He had purposefully never oiled the bottom hinge of the bedroom door so that it gave a tale-tell creak whenever it was opened. The creak was what had brought him to consciousness. He had remained perfectly still, lying on his back with one hand outstretched across the empty space where his wife used to sleep. It was a prone position and normally he would have already reached for the silver knife that lay under Karen's unused pillow, but he hadn't moved, even when he felt the mattress dip under the weight of the intruder. Every muscle in his body felt tense at the enforced stillness. The bed creaked as the intruder shifted impatiently, and Bobby felt a soft puff of breath against his cheek. He couldn't resist any longer. His mouth twitched upward in a repressed smile.

"Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby opened one eye and did his best to glower menacingly at the eight-year-old boy leaning over him. Dean Winchester was unimpressed.

"It's snowing," he murmured, his voice still hushed.

Bobby turned his head and looked out at the weak morning light filtering in through the lacy curtains that Karen had sewn when they were newlyweds. Fat, white snow flakes where drifting past the foggy window panes.

"Huh," grunted Bobby, idly thinking the curtains were looking a little yellow and maybe he should take them down and wash them. He was just afraid that he wouldn't put them back up and he would lose one more part of the life he had shared with his wife. His attention shifted back to the boy as Dean fidgeted again. His excitement was palpable, but he was struggling to maintain a mature, subdued reaction to the snow. Bobby let out a chuckle, and roughly ruffled his spiky blonde hair. "I'm surprised your little brother isn't up and rearing to go..."

As if summoned, there was a thudding of feet stampeding down the hallway and then Sam Winchester burst into the room and catapulted onto the bed. "It's snow-ING!" he exclaimed, ending his sentence with a shout and gasping for breath.

"We know, stupid head," barked Dean, and the boys immediately began to tussle. Bobby reached up and snagged Dean under his arms, rolling the boy across him to the other side and making his body a physical barrier between the squabbling siblings. The boys settled down, Sam nestling against Bobby's side and Dean trying to act indifferent, though he kept his head resting against Bobby's upper arm.

"Can we go outside?" asked Sam, looking up at Bobby with wide brown eyes.

Bobby felt Dean tense and he knew that had been what the older boy had wanted all along. Dean was always so reluctant to ask for what he wanted, and he seemed to wait for Sam to ask instead. Of course, Bobby had noticed that John said yes to Sammy more than he did to Dean. Pushing dark thoughts out of his mind, Bobby grinned down at the two brothers.

"Now why would you want to go outside?" he teased and Sam gave him a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

"Uncle Boooooobbbbyyyyyy," wailed the younger brother and the man let out a chortle.

"Okay, okay, if you want your poor old uncle to freeze to death," answered Bobby, feigning reluctant resignation and hoisting himself up. The two Winchesters rolled off the bed and went thundering back down the hallway to get dressed. He could hear them starting up another sibling squabble as he began to rummage through his dresser, looking for something warm to wear. "Boys!" he barked a warning that was almost second-nature by now. He had barely had time to tug on his old oil-stained work jeans when the two brothers reappeared in the door way.

"Hurry!" whined Sam, as he did a sort of impatient shuffling dance.

Dean had finally caved in to the excitement and was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "It's sticking! There's already at least an inch or two!" he enthused, as he forced a stocking cap over Sam's unruly hair.

Bobby made a non-committal grunting noise and ushered the two boys out of the room as he pulled an old woolen sweater over his head. The brothers went stampeding down the stairs and had already burst out the front door before Bobby made it to the top of the stairs. He followed at a more sedate pace and was greeted by laughter and a snowball to the face as he stepped outside. He yelped and brushed away the snow that was stubbornly clinging to his beard. He narrowed his eyes and tried to give his best stern-uncle face.

"You two think you're clever, eh?" he groused, as he stooped down to gather snow up in his large hands but both boys had already starting running, their shouts of pure, childish joy echoing across Bobby's front lawn.

xxxx

The snow was falling heavier now. Bobby let out a gruff humph as he stared out at the lead-colored sky, his hip resting against the kitchen counter as he idly stirred the cocoa simmering in the sauce pan. Here he was, having made a reputation for himself as a one of the most knowledgeable hunters in the Midwest, making hot chocolate for two rambunctious brats who were currently tearing up his living room to make a massive blanket and pillow fort. He poured up the cocoa into two mugs and dropped a couple of marshmallows on top (he chuckled at the idea that he actually kept marshmallows in his house nowadays) and then headed into the living room.

"You two better not get too comfortable," Bobby grunted, dropping the two mugs down with a clink on the coffee table. Two heads appeared out from underneath a blanket strewn across the couch and the dining room chairs. "You're going to have to clean up soon. I want to go out and get the tree before the snow gets too bad."

Sammy wrinkled his nose up in confusion, a chocolate milk mustache already gracing his upper lip. "What tree?"

"The Christmas tree." Bobby stared down at the two boys who were staring back uncomprehendingly. "You know...for...Christmas?" his statement turning to a question as Bobby tugged nervously at his beard. Granted, he hadn't had a tree since Karen's death, but Christmas was next week and John had discreetly passed over the boys' gifts when he had dropped them off a few days ago. Bobby had just kind of assumed he would do the whole Christmas thing for the boys, so they wouldn't be too homesick, or the closest thing to the homesick that two kids who lived in a Chevy Impala could be. He had an inkling that John hadn't told the boys he wouldn't be back, and Bobby was expecting twin meltdowns when the fact became known.

Sammy's eyes widened as he pieced together Bobby's meaning. "You mean a Christmas tree with ornaments and lights and an angel at the top and everything?"

Dean snorted into his mug of cocoa. "Doesn't have to be an angel," he corrected arrogantly, pleased at the chance to display his superior knowledge of Christmas trees. "It can be a star."

Sammy's mouth formed a small "o" of astonishment. "Do you have an angel or a star?" he asked Bobby excitedly.

With a sinking feeling Bobby realized that this was probably Sammy's first Christmas tree. Dean had been able to spend a few normal Christmases with his mother and father, decorating a tree and baking cookies or whatever Mary had done to make the holidays special with her little boy. Sammy had missed all of that.

"Got an angel," answered Bobby gruffly. "Now you boys finish up your hot chocolate and put my living room to rights, ya lil idjits."

The boys giggled as they made a competition of who could slurp down their cocoa first.

xxxx

_Never again._

Bobby let out a deep sigh as he once again tried to straighten the lopsided tree. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to douse the stupid thing in gas and light it on fire. It had been an ordeal from the get-go. Sam and Dean had bickered the entire way to the tree farm, and then once they had gotten there, they had refused to agree on the same tree. Bobby had had to make an executive decision, which led to a drive home with two pouting children. Then that new hot-shot deputy (Mills, was it?) had pulled him over for speeding and then pulled him over again when she saw him throw the speeding ticket out the window. And now the damn tree would not stand up straight.

Bobby sighed and stepped back, watching the tree instantly tilt slightly to the right. "Balls," he grumbled. He heard Sam giggle in response.

Surrendering to the inevitable, Bobby abandoned the leaning tree and began digging through one of the boxes from the attic, searching for the string of lights. He pulled them out, memories of his and Karen's first Christmas flooding his mind: the look of pure joy on her face as she decorated the tree, telling Bobby the stories of all the ornaments. They had been delicate glass things, passed down from her grandmother, to her mother, and now to her.

Bobby swallowed hard, but was surprised to find the pain of Karen's memory was bearable. The hurt was still there, but it was softer. Bobby half-listened to the two brothers who were busy chattering over the box of ornaments, Sam oohing and ahhing and Dean sharing about what it was like to help their mother decorate their tree. Bobby knew that these two boys were in a large part responsible for the softening he felt. '_You would have loved them, Karen,' _ he thought, all too easily imagining them curled up on her lap as she read them stories. He smiled slightly as he plugged in the string of lights. Only half of the lights lit up. Of course.

There was a popping sound and then dead silence. Bobby spun to see a wide-eyed Sam and Dean staring down at the shattered pieces of a blue and silver ornament. Already tears were pooling in Sam's brown eyes and his little hands were shaking. Dean had gone pale and he was visibly struggling to maintain his grown up facade.

All Bobby really saw was the remains of the ornament. The ornament that had been so precious to Karen. The one she had one day hoped to pass on to their own son or daughter. And Bobby was angry. No, furious. Here was one more part of Karen that he would never get back. And it was because of these two boys.

"Dammit, Sam!" he barked, and the littlest Winchester shrank back, tears now rolling down his round, cherubic cheeks. Bobby felt his fists clench and Dean sprang into action.

"It was my fault, Uncle Bobby!" he shouted, moving to standing between Bobby and his brother. He threw out his arms and though there was fear in his eyes, there was also hot defiance. "I did it! I broke the ornament!" Sam was sniffling but giving his brother a reproachful look. He opened his mouth, clearly about to tell him not to lie, but Dean cut him off with a look.

Bobby felt his stomach sink. '_Oh God, help me. I don't want to be like that man. I don't want to be the kind of person that this boy needs to protect his brother from me.'_

He stared down at the two boys, forcing his fingers to loosen. He opened and closed his mouth several times, torn between wanting to yell until he was hoarse and wanting to reassure these two little monsters that it was really all okay. Instead, Bobby turned and walked out of the room without another word.

There was silence in the house for ten minutes. As Bobby stared up at the ceiling in his bedroom, he was actually quite amazed that it had lasted that long. For the past five minutes, Sam and Dean had stood outside the door. Bobby had heard their soft talking, but hadn't yet been able to make out what they were saying. He knew he needed to go back out there. He was calmer now and there was the mess to clean up.

With a sigh, he heaved himself up off the bed and ambled over to the door, swinging it open. Dean and Sam practically tumbled into the room; they had been pressing their ears against the door the moment before. They looked up at Bobby with twin guilty expressions.

"I'm really sorry, Uncle Bobby," said Sam, hunching his tiny shoulders and looking thoroughly miserable.

"_We're_ really sorry," corrected Dean, quick to help his brother carry the blame.

"And I'm sorry for yellin'," grunted Bobby, reaching out and ruffling the two boys' hair. "Now let's clean up the mess and finish up the tree."

The boys looked at him warily for a moment, unsure if they could be forgiven so easily. Bobby just smiled down at them and herded them back downstairs. As the minutes passed and it became clear that Bobby really had forgiven them, the boys grew more animated, chatting and bickering as they hung the ornaments. Bobby smiled at their prattling as he swept up the remains of the ornament. He dumped the shards in the trash and took a moment to watch the two brothers. Dean was bossing Sam about the best method of hanging ornaments and Sam was steadfastly ignoring his advice. Bobby felt an all too familiar ache, wishing Karen was there to help him watch over these two troublemakers. She would have loved Sam and Dean with reckless abandon.

"When you two finish up, we'll make cookies," offered Bobby, knowing that's how Karen would finish up the afternoon, baking until the whole house was filled with delicious smells.

Sam and Dean crowed with delight, and rushed to finish placing the ornaments, all eagerness and joy.

xxxx

Rufus had been surprised when he had swung into Bobby's on his way back from his latest hunt (a stupid broxa had been terrorizing a small farm outside of Stillwater, Minnesota). In the few years that he had known Bobby, the man had never been the holiday spirit sort of guy. But apparently that had changed. Rufus's eyes traveled over the living room, from the tree complete with a freshly-made construction paper chain and the ornaments all cluttered on the lower third of the branches, to the two boys blissfully asleep on a pile of blankets and couch cushions on the floor nearby. His eyes darted back to the plate in front of him and he frowned.

"What did you say these were again?" he quizzed, struggling to keep his mouth from twisting up into a teasing grin.

"They're cookies," growled Bobby, shoving the plate of burnt, formless sugar cookies closer to his friend. His eyes narrowed. "The boys worked hard on them..." He didn't add that it had taken well over thirty minutes to clean up the colossal mess they had made or the part about the fire in the oven. That had been the first batch. These had turned much better. "They would be hurt if you didn't have one," Bobby stated, laying on the guilt thick.

Rufus fidgeted and then sighed, reaching out and taking one of the least burnt ones. He took a tentative nibble and forced himself to swallow. "Mmm," he said, reaching for his beer and taking a desperate swig.

Bobby grinned maliciously and snatched a cookie up, biting off the antlers of what was supposed to be a reindeer but had ended up looking more like a mutant moose. He chewed contently, unbothered but the burnt flavor. Rufus just shook his head.

"Those two have you in the palm of their grubby little hands," he stated, with a shake of his head.

Bobby watched the two sleeping boys for a moment and then grinned. "Yeah, they sure do, don't they?"

* * *

><p>Happy Holidays folks!<p> 


End file.
